


Spread Me, Share Me

by Island_of_Reil



Series: Vitruvian Titan [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 3DMG Strap Bondage, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Dominance, Frottage, M/M, Mild Spoilers for Chapters 50-56, Power Dynamics, Premature Ejaculation, Submission, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, dom!armin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A threesome between a monster with a will of iron and an unlikely submissive side, an angelic-looking genius with a talent for manipulation, and a majestic if somewhat dorky stallion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spread Me, Share Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the cabin in the woods where the Survey Corps is hiding at the start of the Uprising arc. I’m not sure how long they spend there in canon, but this fic assumes it’s at least a few weeks (and that they don’t have to listen to someone being tortured every night).

####  _Prologue_

“Shut the hell up in there!”

Armin, and Eren beneath him, froze at the muffled shout and the banging on the thin wall separating their bedroom from Jean’s and Connie’s. _So much for afterglow,_ Armin thought.

“Jean’s just mad we didn’t invite him in,” he said, completely deadpan — and was startled to feel a distinct, unmistakable twitch against his hip. He stared wide-eyed down at Eren, who turned his darkening face away.

“Really?” Armin took Eren by the chin and forcibly turned his face forward again. “That turns you on?”

 _“No!”_ Eren snapped, eyes darting away from Armin’s. “What makes you think I want to fuck that horse-faced bastard?”

“I dunno, the fact that you’re getting hard again from just an offhand joke about it, a whole ten seconds after you came?” Armin grinned evilly down at him. “Hm. Maybe I should invite him in, seeing as you’re all trussed up nicely for him already—”

Eren’s heartbeat sped up beneath Armin’s chest, and his cock poked harder into Armin’s hipbone — but he tilted his head back and whispered, _“Trost.”_

All the mischief drained out of Armin immediately.

“Eren.” He pulled out, stretched out beside Eren, and buried his face in his neck. “You know I wouldn’t do that for real unless and until I knew you really wanted it, right?”

When Eren didn’t reply, Armin continued: “It’s almost midnight. Too late to get started again. And even if Jean’s been thinking about it, that doesn’t mean he’s ready to be _asked._ If I were to knock on his door and ask him now, he might freak out and start yelling at me, and that could wake Connie up, and … well, then everybody would know. I’ll ask him tomorrow, when I can catch him alone.”

“But… I want to belong to _you,_ Armin.”

Armin blinked. “What does that have to do with anything? You can belong to anyone you want, Eren.”

“But if I fuck Jean, that means I’d belong to him, too.”

 _Oh, Eren._ “It’s not mathematics. It doesn’t work that way. You can belong to me, and fuck Jean, and not belong to him. Or you can decide you want to belong to us both. Or neither, for that matter. It’s up to you.”

“That makes no sense,” Eren muttered, staring at the wall. Armin recognized the new note in his voice. Stubbornness, just as he used to hear in Eren’s voice when he was arguing with his mother. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Armin was saying. It was that he thought Armin was talking shit.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Armin said. “You kind of have to see it for yourself to understand. My parents had some friends who had… that kind of arrangement, and it seemed to work all right for them.” He hadn’t thought about them, a woman and two men, in years. He’d never seen or heard from them again, either, after his parents had been sent out into the wilderness. He wondered absently if they were still alive.

“Anyway, you don’t have to worry about this tonight.” He kissed the side of Eren’s neck. “Let me untie you and clean us up, and we’ll get some sleep.”

 

*

 

It was getting late. Jean was still up. So was his cock. Of course, his cock _would_ be all for this. As for Jean himself, he wasn’t so sure.

Over Connie’s snores, he could hear movement on the other side of the wall. He wondered if Armin were tying Eren up now. The mental image of Eren, naked and tied down with his legs wide apart, made Jean throb painfully.

He’d been mucking out the stable that afternoon when Armin came in, a little too pink in the face, a little too unwilling to meet Jean’s eyes. Armin’s … proposition _(yeah, let’s call it what it is)_ had nearly made Jean drop the shovel.

“The _fuck?!_ ” he’d all but shouted.

“Jean, keep your voice down,” Armin hissed, turning his head over his shoulder to look out the stable door.

“No, really, Armin, what the fuck?” Jean demanded, more quietly but just as vehemently. “That old creep really did soil you, didn’t he?” Then Armin looked as though Jean had slapped him, and Jean felt kind of terrible.

“No, Eren and I have been … doing stuff like this for a long time now.” Armin paused a beat. “And, anyway, this was his idea.”

“God almighty.” Jean leaned the shovel against the wall of the stable, then clapped a hand to his face. “You’re a couple of perverts. Was everyone in Shiganshina like that? Maybe the Wallists were on to something, about why the titans destroyed it.”

Then Armin went even paler than he usually was, and Jean felt even more terrible. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was an asshole thing to say.”

“You think?” Armin’s voice was low but indignant. “Be glad Eren didn’t overhear you say that. You’re not just talking about him and me, you know. You’re talking about his mom. And his dad. And Mikasa. And Hannes-san. And a lot of other people we knew.”

“I know,” Jean sighed, and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

They both stared at the befouled hay on the stable floor for several seconds. Then Armin said lamely, “Anyway, the invitation’s still on.” Jean gave him another incredulous look. “Just think about it,” Armin urged. “Look, I gotta go, Mikasa asked me to help her with something.”

 _Sure she did,_ Jean thought, watching Armin all but flee the stable. But he was no more eager than Armin was to prolong the conversation. Once he was alone again, he grabbed the shovel and resumed his attack on the pile of horseshit.

So not only was Eren a suicidal jerk, a self-righteous loudmouth, and a secret titan… he was also a dirty little bitch. Jean started to chuckle at the incongruity. He wondered how loud and self-righteous Eren could be, all tied up and naked.

Then he wondered how loud Eren could be, all tied up and naked. 

And then he swore because he was getting a boner. And Eren Jaeger did _not_ turn him on, not one little bit.

Nope.

Which must have been why he’d approached Armin in the yard after dinner and said, “Um. About that… idea you ran by me this afternoon.”

Armin looked up at him brightly. Too brightly. “Yeah?”

“I… think it sounds like a good idea,” Jean muttered, studying the grass beneath his feet intently.

When he looked up again, he cringed at the gleam in Armin’s eyes. He had come to recognize that gleam as boding absolutely no good whatsoever. Especially when coupled with the grin that was spreading across Armin’s face.

“So, um.” Jean resisted the urge to look at the ground again. “How do we do this? _When_ do we do this?”

“Let’s say twenty-two thirty,” Armin said in an excited whisper. “Not too early, not too late. I’ll knock on the wall between our rooms, and you come into ours. And we’ll take it from there.”

The knock did in fact come precisely at half-past ten. Not ten twenty-nine, not ten thirty-one. Jean jumped at the sound. So did his cock.

Okay, yeah, he wasn’t going to lie to himself again. Eren was hot. Eyes like a doll’s, nice build, and the noises he would make back in the training barracks, when Jean would overhear him and Armin going at it after lights out… goddamn. Those noises had fueled quite a few dates between Jean and his right hand. Dwelling on the idea of causing those noises himself could’ve made him come in his trousers all on its own.

That said, Eren was kind of a dick. Hot-headed, self-righteous, stupid about his own safety, stubborn. And not entirely human. Not a good combination in the sack.

Especially the “not entirely human” part. What if Eren got so excited that he bit his own lip and shifted? Leaving aside the logistical problem posed by a fifteen-meter titan suddenly appearing inside a bedroom smaller than four square meters… titans didn’t have digestive tracts, which meant they didn’t have assholes. What would happen if Eren shifted while Jean was fucking him? Would Jean be forcibly expelled, thrown backward into a wall, before he was crushed by the mass of Eren’s titan form? Would the wall collapse? Would the _house_ collapse, with everyone inside it?

On the other hand, would he be able to pull out, period? Or would Eren’s body just kind of … close up around him, like a healing wound, and if somehow he miraculously wasn’t squashed like a bug, would he have to wait until Eren was cut out of the nape and the titan body sublimated before he’d get his dick back?

Also, how did he still have a boner while he was thinking about these things?

He stumbled out of bed, pulling his trousers up over his underwear, then pulling on his shirt and buttoning it. He didn’t bother with socks or boots, and he moved as quietly as he could. Connie could sleep through a titan invasion, but Connie was also a ball-busting little shit with a big mouth, and Jean saw no reason to tempt fate.

Seconds later he was standing in front of Eren and Armin’s door. It was almost, but not completely, closed, and a thin line of candlelight shone out from between the door and the jamb. Jean’s hand, rising to open it, froze in mid-air.

_Kirschtein, you fucking chickenshit. All day you can throw yourself at man-eating giants, but you can’t walk into that bedroom? If Armin’s been fucking Eren for years now and **he’s** not worried about Eren shifting during sex, what the hell are **you** afraid of?_

Half a second later his palm was on the door and he was pushing it inward.

Sitting in an armchair a short distance from the bed was Armin, fully dressed. When he turned to acknowledge Jean, his eyes were unusually dark, even considering the dimness of the room. And on the bed, spread-eagled and tied down with what looked very much like Gear straps, was—

_Oh. Oh, fuck._

Jean had seen Eren naked hundreds of times before, just like he’d seen every other guy in the 104th naked hundreds of times before. The military beat all sense of modesty right out of you. But he’d never seen Eren naked before like this, spread out like a banquet and tied down. His face was flushed, his eyes also darkened, his lips wet and parted. His pulse beat visibly in his throat even in the low light, his nipples were stiff, and—

_His cock. Oh, God, his cock._

Jean realized he’d never seen Eren fully erect before. His cock was gorgeous, flat against his belly, the head lushly full and deep red and already dripping. Jean was taken with the urge to suck it up into his mouth and savor every drop as Eren strained upward and cried out beneath him.

What he did instead, after closing the door, was sit on the edge of the bed. _Holy shit, they **are** using Gear straps._ He guessed he didn’t see why not. He also guessed he wasn’t ever going to be able to look at Gear straps the same way again, especially not when Eren was wearing them. 

Licking his lips, he ran his fingertips gently up the inside of Eren’s right thigh. Eren blushed harder and turned his face to the side, eyes closing. “Hey,” Jean said, his indignation only half-facetious. “Don’t hide from me. I’m nervous enough as it is.” He gave a little laugh that proved it.

“ _You’re_ nervous?” Eren snapped. “I’m the one who’s tied up here.”

“Eren. You know that all you have to do is say that one word, and you can make Jean, or me, stop whenever you want.”

Jean turned to look at Armin. He’d never heard that tone from him before: soft and calm, but authoritative, as if he couldn’t imagine Eren not doing his bidding. It was effective: Eren subsided under Jean’s hands.

“What’s ‘that one word’?” Jean asked.

“‘Trost,’” Eren replied.

Jean couldn’t remember ever having gone before, in the space of a second, from breathlessly aroused to ice-cold throughout his entire body — and livid.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he snarled, standing up from the edge of the bed. “Did you invite me in here just to fuck with me?”

Eren’s and Armin’s eyes went wide simultaneously. “Shit,” Armin said. “No. Oh, God, no. I’m sorry, Jean. We should have thought about that.”

“You _think?_ ” Jean hissed, gratified to see Armin flinch at the echo of his own words from earlier in the day.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” Eren stammered, going pale. “Jean — I-I’m so sorry. We really didn’t think about that. Shit. Please, don’t go. Stay.”

Jean looked down at him. Armin looked embarrassed and guilty, but Eren looked absolutely mortified — genuinely ashamed. He’d never begged Jean for anything before. Especially not forgiveness.

_He wants me. He’s more afraid of me leaving than of anything I might do to him while he’s tied down._

Jean’s cock twitched again.

He sat down again slowly on the edge of the bed. Armin and Eren both watched his face anxiously. He flicked his eyes from Armin’s face to Eren’s and back again, taking in their obvious remorse. He wondered what the hell they’d been thinking, coming up with _that_ word for … _this_.

But he was pretty sure they weren’t intentionally fucking with him.

He took a deep breath and raked his eyes up and down Eren. Eren really did look adorable when he blushed. Jean wondered if all of him blushed when he came. His trousers were suddenly far too tight again.

He leaned over and took Eren’s chin in his hand. Eren’s lips fell open under Jean’s, soft and yielding. Jean curled his tongue hard into Eren’s mouth. Eren caressed it lightly with his own but otherwise let it do as it would. Jean had never imagined Eren so pliant, and he moaned into the kiss and swallowed Eren’s whimper of response.

He pulled back, sitting up again, and let his hand wander over Eren’s inner thighs, assiduously avoiding his cock. Eren squirmed, arching upward, seeking a more intimate touch to no avail. Jean grinned, then looked up at Armin. He felt his face burn at Armin’s expression: fascinated, almost drugged, as he watched Jean caress Eren. Armin’s right hand was at the front of his trousers, smoothing indolently back and forth over the distension in the fabric.

Jean had never really thought about Armin before, at least not sexually. Delicate-looking boys didn’t do much for him. But there was something about the contrast between what Armin looked like and how … how fucking _shamelessly_ he could proposition Jean for a threesome. And how he could just sit there, unselfconsciously rubbing himself as he watched two of his friends about to get it on. Jean had no illusions that Armin was innocent — _ahaha, yeah, **no** _— but Jean couldn’t have imagined that anybody from the 104th, let alone Armin, would have turned out so...__

His mind leapt to the word _perverted_. He winced mentally, thinking about what he’d said to Armin earlier in the day and immediately regretted. Then he thought, _I didn’t say no to this whole thing, did I? And who’s the bigger pervert here, Armin getting off on watching me and Eren, or me getting off on Armin getting off on watching me and Eren?_

He swallowed.

“So, um, Armin,” he said hoarsely, though he’d turned his head again and was now staring into Eren’s eyes.

“Yeah?” Armin’s voice was light and breathy.

“Um. What do you… like… what do you _do_ with someone who’s all tied up?” He laughed nervously again. “I mean, it’s not the usual scenario, where one person does A and the other person does B and it’s like, you know, a chain reaction? I have to do all the work here. So what am I supposed to do with him?”

As soon as the words left his mouth he wondered if maybe he should’ve asked Eren, the person to whom Things were about to Be Done, what he wanted done to him. But he had a strong sense that Eren was getting off on this. Having Jean and Armin talking about him like he wasn’t even there, like he was a _thing,_ deciding for him what would be done to him. Eren’s hard-on certainly hadn’t diminished at all, and Eren didn’t look the least bit miffed. This being Eren, that was saying something.

“You can do anything you want with him, Jean,” Armin said dreamily.

“Uh… what do _you_ usually do with him?”

“Mm… Biting, scratching, tickling, pinching, making him beg for what he wants. Slapping him in the face sometimes. I’ve thought about getting the riding crop out of the stable at some point. I’d have to sneak it back before anyone realized it’d gone missing, though.”

It was … okay, it was fucking _weird,_ Armin ticking off the things he liked to do to Eren like he was giving someone a list of things to buy on market day in Trost. In that same breathy voice, no less. Then thinking out loud about the riding crop. Not just about using it on Eren, but about making sure know one knew he’d borrowed it. Again in that breathy voice.

Fucking weird. Also kind of hot.

Yeah, Jean was definitely a pervert, too. Maybe not as big of a pervert as Armin was, but still a pervert.

He swallowed. “Do I… do I _have_ to do all of those things to him?”

Armin blinked and seemed to come out a little from the spell he was under. “No,” he said, sounding slightly taken aback. “You don’t have to do any of those things to him if you don’t want to. I like doing them to him, and he likes it when I do them to him, but if you don’t like some or any of them… what’s the point if it’s not enjoyable for all of us?”

Well, that made sense, Jean thought. He felt a little of the tension seep out of his neck and shoulders.

He looked down at Eren again. Eren seemed to be waiting, eagerly but patiently, for Jean to decide what he wanted to do. _Eren, patient. Will wonders never cease._ He glanced up again at Armin, whose expression was the same if a bit more controlled.

Jean stood, facing Eren and still keeping his eyes on Eren’s face. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders and arms. Eren and Armin had seen him naked as many times as he’d seen them naked, but — just as when he’d first seen Eren, tied up and hard — this wasn’t the same. He could feel the heat of Eren’s eyes on his chest and belly, that of Armin’s on his shoulder blades and spine. His face flushed warm with that heat as he let the shirt slide over his hands onto the floor.

His heart was pounding so hard it hurt as he knelt on the bed again, then lightly swung himself over Eren and stretched out alongside him, his chest against Eren’s left side. He’d caught some of the heat radiating off Eren many times before, in training exercises or in actual battle, sometimes even in the mess hall. But Eren was like a furnace against him now, and drops of sweat began to bead on Jean’s own forehead even in the cool of the room.

He reached across Eren’s face, wove his fingers into thick dark-brown hair, and gently tugged Eren’s face toward his own. Once again, Eren’s lips opened submissively under his. This kiss was longer, quieter, less intense, but it ended with Eren gasping and something fiery leaping under Jean’s skin that owed nothing to Eren’s body heat. 

He sighed as he braced his hands on Eren’s shoulders and moved over him, settling most of his weight on the bed but letting his clothed hard-on press into Eren’s bare thigh, feeling Eren’s naked hard-on jab into his own belly. Eren clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and whimpered as Jean took his earlobe into his mouth and sucked gently, then began to mouth the side of Eren’s neck. He tasted the salt of clean sweat, a trace of soap, and … well, Eren, Jean guessed. Iron and earth and other things that Jean couldn’t describe but that weren’t unpleasant at all.

Keeping his touch feather-light, he drew his free hand down from Eren’s shoulder and began to trace the hollow of his clavicle, the diamond shape of the bone itself. Eren’s soft, humming whimper made something hot and keen twist in Jean’s belly. He swallowed back a moan and moved his hand further down, trailing his fingertips over Eren’s chest muscle, stopping just short of the hard red nipple. Eren shivered, then arched and squirmed under Jean, again to no avail. Jean merely kept up the light caress with one fingertip about a centimeter away — then quickly rotated his thumb so that the nail lightly scraped against the side of the nipple.

“Aah!” It was a short, stifled cry, more like a yelp, and Jean’s trousers were suddenly not just too confining but painfully so.

“Uh…” He moved gingerly off Eren, rolled onto his back, and began to undo his flies. “It’s… getting kind of warm in here,” he said, sounding as though he’d just run from Wall Rose to Wall Maria.

“Isn’t it?”

Jean looked up sharply at Armin’s words, as breathless as his own. Armin’s flies were open, his cock out, his fingers moving lightly on the underside just below the head. It was average sized — Jean realized he’d assumed Armin’s cock would be small, like Armin himself — and dark red and dripping onto his hand. A sudden image of himself kneeling in front of the chair, taking Armin into his mouth, made Jean’s head swim. He gulped for air.

“Well?” Armin whispered, and for a moment Jean thought Armin had read his mind. Then Armin continued, “Aren’t you going to take the rest of your clothes off?”

“Er. Right.” Jean hastily looked away from Armin and finished undoing his flies. Then he shoved his trousers and underwear down to his knees, wriggled out of them, and kicked them off. He swore he could _hear_ both Armin’s and Eren’s eyes widen this time, and his face went red because he knew why.

He didn’t think he was _unusually_ large. Reiner’s and Bertholdt’s cocks had both been bigger when they were soft than Jean’s was when it was hard. But, well, he hadn’t exactly been cheated by nature, either. Marco had praised it enthusiastically when they were together for the first time. Jean had enjoyed that. But having both Armin and Eren staring at it like it was a holy grail or something was … a little intense.

Eren licking his lips at the sight — oh, God, the images _that_ put into Jean’s mind. Eren really did have a gorgeous mouth, at least when he wasn’t using it to call people assholes and compare them to horses. If Armin had him so well-trained, Armin had probably taught him how to give head. Had to have. Jean suddenly didn’t know what he wanted more: to hear Eren moan as Jean fucked him in the ass and repeatedly hit the little ball of nerves in there, or to stare down into those enormous, dilated green eyes with his fist snarled in Eren’s hair while he watched Eren’s lips move back and forth on his—

_Fuck. Slow down, Kirschtein, before you blow your load all over yourself. Yeah, you could get hard again in five minutes but why risk throwing off everyone’s pace?_

He closed his eyes and forced his mind to clear, as he did just before he soared into battle. The thought _Maybe I should kiss someone’s sword for luck, too_ still managed to slip into his head, and he couldn’t help chuckling. Armin squinted at him. “Just nerves again,” Jean lied. “Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry, actually; his erection had subsided a little. Possibly a little too much.

He turned his head to look at Eren again. Eren was still flushed, though he seemed a little confused by Jean’s laughter, too. Jean closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again before he launched himself at Eren, landing astride him and grabbing his jaw and plunging his tongue into Eren’s mouth and swallowing up the high-pitched _mmmmph!_ sound Eren made. With his other hand braced on the mattress he eased himself down, straight on top of Eren, all hot skin and jutting nipples and rigid cock beneath him.

Eren arched violently up into him, with amazing force considering how well Armin had tied him down, managing to find Jean’s cock with his own and grind against it. Jean gasped and, without thinking, plunged his hand down between their bodies and curled it around Eren’s cock and squeezed hard — and Eren wailed loudly and shuddered underneath him. The flesh in Jean's hand spasmed, and hot, sticky fluid splashed over his knuckles and against his thigh.

Eyes closed, Eren sank down into the mattress again, tilting his head back against the pillow and making soft, broken little moans as his cock diminished in Jean’s grip. Jean stared at him, his own mouth open, his heart racing fiercely. The softening problem of a few minutes ago was completely gone. Well, his own, anyway. To say the least.

As Eren quieted, Jean heard Armin clear his throat, then say hoarsely, “There’s a handkerchief in the nightstand, Jean.”

“Uh… thanks.” Jean’s own voice sounded as rough as Armin’s did.

“Shit.” Eren, coming back to himself now, sounded contrite and embarrassed again, though not quite as mortified as before. “I’m sorry, Jean.” Jean wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for coming too soon or for coming all over him.

“Eh. It happens.”

Gingerly he eased himself off Eren and stood. Inside the small drawer was the handkerchief, a vial of oil, and several strange objects whose possible uses he wasn’t particularly eager to dwell upon. He took the folded square of linen and wiped off his hand and thigh, then folded it with the soiled part inside and turned back to the bed. Eren twitched and squirmed as Jean dabbed at his hypersensitized cock and the hair around it. Eren was kind of hot when he squirmed, Jean thought.

“Um…” Jean began, eyeing Armin as he wadded up the handkerchief so that the outside was as dry as possible.

“Just drop it on the floor for now,” Armin said softly.

“Okay.” Jean gently lobbed the soiled ball of linen to land beside his clothes. “But… um…” Goddamn it, why was he turning red again? He looked up at Armin. “We, um, kind of have to wait for Eren to—”

“Yes.” If Armin sounded less hoarse now it was only because his voice was mostly breath. “Did you want to… do something with me, while Eren watches?”

Behind Jean, Eren sucked in his breath. Jean throbbed. He licked his lips. Because of nerves. That had to be it.

“Uh… sure. What’d you have in mind?”

Armin paused for a beat. “Me on your lap?”

“Um. Yeah. I guess that’d work. Stand up, then?”

Armin rose to his feet. As Jean took his place in the chair, Armin held his gaze while he unbuttoned his shirt with unsteady hands. Jean watched his upper body slowly emerge out of the rough military-issue linen. Standing before him quite literally in the flesh, Armin seemed less delicate than in Jean’s mental picture of him — which, Jean realized, probably dated back to their earliest days of training. They’d been twelve then. Not fifteen.

Armin was still narrower through the shoulders, biceps, and chest than any other boy in the Survey Corps, even Connie. But actual combat, plus maturation, had begun to forge lean, wiry muscle along his arms, even a little on his chest. He didn’t have the abs most of them had acquired, but his belly was flat and slightly ridged. And he was pushing down his trousers and underwear to reveal thighs and calves that, though still slender, were no longer matchsticks. His chest was smooth, but he had fine, pale hair on his arms and legs and close-trimmed dark-gold curls around his cock and balls.

Just as he’d kicked the last of his clothing aside, Armin looked up and caught Jean’s gaze. Jean, to his chagrin, was blushing again — and Armin, goddamn him, was _grinning_. Jean hoped to hell Armin wasn’t about to ask him something cheesy along the lines of _Like what you see?_ , because the only thing Jean was going to say to something like that was _Yeah, maybe,_ and it was going to come out just as lame as it sounded in his head.

Armin didn’t say anything at all. He stepped closer to the chair, leaned forward with his hands braced on its arms, and brushed his lips softly against Jean’s. Before Jean could respond in kind, Armin pulled back slightly, then leaned in again.

This time he plunged his tongue straight into Jean’s mouth, sweeping it with force against Jean’s hard palate and teeth. Jean, unable to figure out if he was more aroused or taken aback by the aggression, grabbed Armin by the shoulders and thrust his own tongue into his mouth. Armin’s response was to climb onto Jean’s lap, pressing his knees into the outsides of Jean’s thighs, then take Jean’s head between his hands and kiss him even harder. 

Jean’s cock twitched hard, and his eyes opened in surprise. Since when had his body agreed to let Armin dominate _him_ as well as Eren and not told his brain the news? Then he quickly closed his eyes again because everybody, no matter how hot they were (and since when had Armin gotten _hot,_ anyway? Jeez), looked stupid when they were kissing you.

They flew open again, wide, when he felt Armin’s right hand curl around his cock. Then he felt something against it that wasn’t Armin’s palm, something warm and smooth and hard, and he moaned desperately. Armin seemed to devour the sound, and when he eventually pulled his mouth away it was with a soft _nnnhh_ as if both his pleasure and Jean’s were spilling out of his throat at once. But he continued to chafe his own cock gently and steadily against Jean’s, holding onto Jean’s shoulder with his left hand.

“I—I—I’m not gonna last—” Jean stammered, his voice squeaking, almost higher than Armin’s now.

“Yes, you are,” came the teasing response at his ear, in between Armin’s lips working wetly and smoothly over the lobe. “Because if you start to come I’m going to squeeze the base of your cock and force it all back down.” Jean made a noise that didn’t hang together well enough to be called a groan. “You don’t want to spoil things for Eren, do you?” Armin chided him as he shifted his head to cover Jean’s mouth with his own again.

Jean gave a slight start. It wasn’t quite accurate to say he’d _forgotten_ Eren was there. You didn’t just forget that Eren Jaeger was naked and spread out and tied up about half a meter away from you. But with Armin naked and Jean naked and Armin straddling Jean and doing all sorts of things to him that Jean had honestly never thought about Armin doing to him… well, the importance and centrality of Eren to this situation had, it was fair to say, slipped a bit.

“No,” he whispered against Armin’s lips. “I don’t. I want to save it for Eren.”

__“Good_ boy, _” Armin crooned, like Jean was a not-particularly-smart dog that had just managed a not-particularly-complex trick after a dozen tries. Jean glared at him, tempted to shove him off the chair and stalk out of the room without even grabbing his clothes and crawl back into his own bed and beat off angrily without giving a shit whether he woke Connie up or not.__

Then Armin’s fingertips found that little spot on the underside of Jean’s cockhead, the spot Jean liked to lavish extra attention on when he was beating off. His indignation vanished immediately, although a question nagged at him through the haze of lust: Would Armin actually be fast enough to grab him around the base of his cock before Jean could come all over him?

The question was rendered moot by a tentative, breathy voice in the background. “A-Armin?”

“Yes, Eren?” Armin murmured against Jean’s neck, loud enough for Eren to hear.

“I… could you and Jean come over here? Please?”

Eren, begging again. Jean kind of wished he could bottle the sound. It would be hot to listen to when he was beating off. And he wouldn’t let it out of the bottle for anyone else to hear, for instance, when Eren had pissed him off again. Well, he probably wouldn’t. For a price.

From Jean’s lap, Armin craned his neck around, and Jean raised his own head. Eren was staring at both of them, eyes wide and pupils dilated, and cock slightly more than half-hard.

“Why should we, Eren?” Armin’s voice was light and mocking. “Jean and I are having a good time. Whose fault is it that you went off like a cannon all over Jean, anyway?”

“Well, I _did_ have something to do with that…” Jean began.

“Eren’s supposed to be learning self-control, and not just when it comes to anger,” Armin said complacently, then turned his head back forward and began to nibble on the side of Jean’s neck. Jean made a strangled noise in his throat and tried to arch his hips forward, which turned out to be difficult with Armin not only sitting in his lap but leaning into him.

“Aaarrrrr- _miiinnn…_ ” Eren whined, actually _whined,_ like a petulant six-year-old instead of a lethal monster with military training who was old enough to be tied down for perverted sexual purposes. Jean suddenly couldn’t decide what he wanted to do the most: march over to the bed and fuck the petulance right out of him, march over there and backhand him instead, or just slap Armin off his lap for letting Eren go on whining like that.

Armin raised his mouth briefly from Jean’s neck. “If you’re trying to entice us over there, Eren, you’re doing a terrible job.” Meanwhile his hand was busy again between Jean’s thighs, his touch too light to be more than a tease.

Jean ground his teeth together, then swallowed. “Er… don’t I get a vote in this?” he finally demanded, his voice still far too squeaky for his comfort.

Armin moved just far enough back to look at him in disbelief. An opportunity to be seized if ever there was one. Jean glared back at him, and this time his voice came out in its usual register. “He wants us over there. I want us over there. That’s a two-to-one vote, Armin.”

Armin’s eyes narrowed. “Eren’s not in charge right now. I am.”

“Yeah, but you’re not in charge of _me,_ are you, like you are of Eren? Or big enough to keep me from standing up and dumping you off my lap if I decide to go over to the bed anyway?”

Five seconds of silence ensued. Jean kept his eyes on Armin but was intensely aware of Eren watching them from the bed with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and lust. Then Armin’s face relaxed. “All right,” he said quietly, backing off Jean’s lap and standing. His erection had flagged slightly, Jean noticed, just as his own had begun to do again.

He stood as well and looked toward Eren, whose eyes were darting back and forth between them. “So, um…” Jean hesitated. “What are we going to do with him now?”

“Why are you asking _me?_ I thought I wasn’t in charge of you,” Armin said, with the world’s most aggravating dry note to his voice.

Jean sighed. “Fuck’s sake. You’re the one with the experience here.” 

And then, suddenly, it hit him how ridiculous the whole situation was. He knew it would kill what remained of his hard-on, but he put his hand over his face and started to laugh anyway. “This is so stupid. We’re all in here naked, we want to get off before we have to go to sleep, and what are we doing? Arguing.” 

Through his fingers he saw Armin crack a smile, and a soft huff of laughter issued from the bed. Once again, Jean seized the moment, or, rather, seized Armin by the shoulders and pulled him in for a hard, bruising kiss.

Armin flailed in his grip, trying to regain the upper hand, but he had neither enough bodily strength to do so nor enough leverage to free himself from the embrace. When Jean could feel Armin begin to harden again against his upper thigh, he shoved him backward roughly, their mouths separating with a wet pop. Armin staggered slightly backward, flushed from forehead to breastbone and his cock rising again toward his stomach.

Jean grinned broadly. “So. What are _we_ going to do to Eren?”

The usual slyness in Armin’s grin was tempered with rueful respect. “ _We_ are going to play with him a little bit. I’ll get the upper half, you get the lower half.” And with that he planted his ass on the bed next to Eren’s head and smiled sweetly down at him. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with an utter lack of sincerity as he dug two fingernails into Eren’s right nipple and twisted.

Eren closed his eyes and … mewled, fucking _mewled,_ that was the only way Jean could describe it. Not a particularly erotic sound, but the immediate further perking up of Eren’s cock? That definitely had Jean’s attention.

Armin moved his hand to Eren’s other nipple and ground his nails into it, and Eren made more sounds that were not exactly what you’d expect out of someone who occasionally became fifteen meters tall and knocked over buildings. Without taking his eyes off Eren’s contorted face, Armin asked, “What are you waiting for, Jean?”

“Uh…” He didn’t have an answer to that, so he settled himself on the bed next to Eren’s hip and began again to run his fingers up and down the insides of his squadmate’s widespread thighs. This time Eren groaned deeply, and Jean could feel the sound vibrate through the head of his own cock. Nonetheless, he asked warily, “So… Eren, if I suck you a little, are you gonna last?”

Eren’s eyes flew open, dark and hungry — then squeezed shut again when Armin pinched the skin on the underside of his right bicep. “Honest answer, Eren,” Armin said sharply. “Jean and I won’t wait for you to get hard a third time.”

“Y-yeah,” Eren breathed out shakily. “I can last.”

Jean realized, belatedly, that Armin had spoken for him again. But just now he was crawling between Eren’s thighs and lowering himself to the mattress. With Eren’s cock just centimeters away from his face and the heady smell of sex in his nostrils, he found himself unable for the moment to give a fuck about Armin’s presumption.

Angling his legs a little so his feet wouldn’t bang into the headboard, he settled on his belly, his left arm draped over Eren’s right hip and the palm splayed against Eren’s waist. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and sucked the head of Eren’s cock deeply into his mouth.

Eren made a strangled noise and rocked upward against Jean’s left arm. He penetrated no deeper into Jean’s mouth before Jean threw his opposite arm over Eren’s other hip and pushed him down into the mattress. Now he opened his eyes and kept them pinned on Eren’s as he wet his lips again and slid them back down over Eren’s cockhead.

If Eren’s groan was more coherent this time, it was longer and more drawn out, with a note of desperation to it that matched the wildness in his darkened eyes. Jean wanted to hear that sound again. Breathing steadily through his nose, he took Eren deeper and deeper into his throat until he was nuzzling thick, dark pubic curls and he could feel Eren throb against the insides of his cheeks. Under the musk of arousal and the salt tang of sweat was Eren’s earth-and-iron scent, and Jean found himself wanting to bottle that, too. Eren rocked futilely under the pinions of Jean’s arms.

“You like that, don’t you, Eren?” Armin murmured. He’d stopped torturing Eren’s nipples and was now simply rolling them in his fingertips. Eren was bright red, skin glistening with sweat, pulse hammering visibly in his throat. He opened his mouth to answer Armin but nothing came out except a whining, desperate moan.

Armin gave Eren’s left nipple a hard twist and said, “I asked you a question, Eren.”

“Y-yeah,” Eren panted. “I— oh, shit, I’m starting to get close—”

“Jean,” Armin said, but Jean had already pulled off Eren with a lewd wet sound.

“So—” Jean started.

“You want to fuck him, right? You need to open him up first.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Jean said irritably, rising to his knees on the bed. Armin and Eren might have had a lot more experience in the deviance department than he did, but that didn’t mean he was a _virgin,_ for fuck’s sake. “Are you gonna pass me the oil? You’re closer to the nightstand than I am.”

“How did you— oh, right, the handkerchief,” Armin said.

“Yeah, the handkerchief, the oil, and half a dozen things it looks like you stole from the Gear factory,” Jean snapped.

Armin grinned. “They’re not from the Gear factory. Did you want a demonstration of any of them?” Between and beneath them, Eren whimpered.

The nape of Jean’s neck prickled a little. “Uh, no, that’s okay.”

“Suit yourself,” Armin said with a shrug before leaning over to open the drawer and pluck the little vial out. “Here you go.” He lobbed it gently at Jean, who caught it easily. He uncorked it, set the cork down on the bed to Eren’s left side, and poised the vial above his right hand in his left. And frowned.

“Um—”

“What’s wrong?” Armin asked.

What was wrong, Jean realized, was that while he was certainly not a virgin, his entire experience with anal sex had consisted of being on the receiving end of the equation, opposite Marco, half a dozen times.

“Well, uh, I’ve had this done to me before. I’ve never done it to anyone else.”

“You’re a _bottom?_ ” Eren more or less squawked.

“Shut up, Eren.”

“You can’t extrapolate from how it was done to you?” Armin asked. He sounded genuinely baffled, not rhetorical and sarcastic.

“Um. Yeah. I guess I could,” Jean said. He could’ve figured that out on his own, he realized. Sheesh. He still wasn’t sure how much oil to pour over his hand, but Marco had used a lot, so Jean lubricated his fingers until he could rub them together with no friction at all. 

“Let me take that for you.” Armin reached out, and Jean passed the vial back to him. Then he looked down at Eren, who was looking up at him with a mixture of want and apprehension. That was when it hit him: He was really going to do this. He was going to finger Eren Jaeger open, and then he was going to fuck the living daylights out of him.

 _I’m going to make this good for you,_ he thought. It must have shown in his expression, because the wariness in Eren’s subsided and his pupils widened again.

Jean sank back on his heels. He lay his left palm flat against Eren’s belly, appreciating the scorch of his skin and the delicate muscles jumping beneath. Then he lowered his right hand and began to circle the outside of Eren’s hole with the tip of his forefinger. Eren closed his eyes and made another humming whimper of pleasure. His flesh twitched and pulsed under Jean’s fingertip, and Jean could feel his chest and belly tightening again with a damp, keen-edged heat.

“You’re so beautiful, Eren,” he breathed before he’d even realized the thought was in his head. He blushed to hear the words come out of his mouth, but Eren blushed probably even darker and turned his head to the wall.

“He is, isn’t he?” Armin turned Eren’s head forward again and carded his fingers through Eren’s hair. “Humanity’s Hottest Piece of Ass.”

Eren, brick-red now, closed his eyes. “Stop it, Armin.”

“Why?” Armin was caressing Eren’s face now, his fingers trailing down Eren’s neck to his collarbone. “It’s true. Also, you’re even hotter when you’re blushing. Isn’t he, Jean?”

Jean bit his lip to suppress a smile. Aside from it being true, it was even hotter than that to have Armin teasing Eren along with him. And Armin pulling Eren’s strings again meant that he wasn’t pulling Jean’s. “Mmm-hmm,” he acknowledged, slipping the fingertip in and pushing his hand forward until the finger was buried to the first knuckle in Eren’s searing heat.

Eren gasped, his eyes flying open, his abs shaking under Jean’s hand. Jean caught his gaze, and as Eren bucked his hips, trying to meet the thrust halfway, Jean withdrew. Eren whined — and then Jean plunged the finger back into Eren with a little more force, making Eren gasp.

“You like that?” Jean murmured, staring Eren straight in the eye. “You like it when I finger your ass like this?”

“Y-y-yeah,” Eren stuttered, arching again into Jean’s hand. Jean pistoned the finger out, then in, just as hard as before. Eren groaned. Remembering that he’d brought him pretty close to the edge with his mouth a few moments before, Jean shifted a wary eye to Eren’s cock. It was rigid and trembling, the precome running freely.

“If he starts to come you can always squeeze it back, Jean.”

Eren bared his clenched teeth. “Armin — _no._ Please. That shit hurts.”

“Which is why you’re not going to come again before you’re told. Right, Eren?” Armin ground his thumbnail into Eren’s nipple again. Eren made a noise like a terrified puppy and nodded frantically.

Jean wasn’t particularly eager to do to Eren what Armin had threatened to do to him before. With his luck, he’d probably put Eren out of commission for the rest of the night, rather than just keep him on the edge of orgasm. Fortunately Armin seemed to have Eren under his thumb figuratively as well as literally, so Jean decided he could safely ignore the entire exchange and add another finger.

Eren groaned again. Jean slowly spread the two fingers apart as far as he could, pushing gently against Eren’s inner walls, then scissored them back together and separated them again. Eren’s expression had hazed over with pleasure, but the corners of his mouth began to draw back again, and his eyes were shut far too tightly.

“I think I need more oil,” Jean said, slipping his fingers out of Eren. 

Armin reached over to the nightstand again. “Hold your hand out.” 

Jean obeyed, and Armin decanted more oil into his palm with a placid, concentrated precision. Jean wondered if he kept notebooks of… this sort of thing. How much oil to use, first time, second time, down to the last drop. What noises Eren made when Armin did this or that to him. How long, to the second, it took Eren to come. He realized with more than a little shame that this train of thought was making him throb.

Once he’d coated his fingers again, he slipped the two back into Eren and began to drive them steadily in, out, in, out of him, scissoring them every third thrust. Armin, who’d set the vial back down on the nightstand, had resumed his attentions to Eren’s nipples, this time rolling and tweaking them gently. Eren was shamelessly arching himself upward now, fucking himself on Jean’s hand, counterpointing the obscene slick sound with broken words and whimpers.

 _He’s got to be really close again,_ Jean thought. _But… let’s try this anyway. I want to see his face._

On the next inward stroke, with both fingers completely enveloped in Eren’s flesh, Jean sharply crooked the tip of the middle one and stroked it upward. It brushed against something firm but with a give to it. Eren’s eyes widened and he uttered a shocked, high-pitched noise, then subsided into little moans. 

Jean swallowed.

“Jean,” Armin said warningly.

“Uh— yeah.” It was hard to draw enough breath to form words now.

Armin hopped off the bed and moved toward its foot. “I’ll untie his right ankle. You get the left one.” Eren said nothing but flushed even darker.

Jean craned his neck back around toward Armin and frowned. “We’re going to untie him?”

“Just his feet,” Armin said, bending his head over the Gear strap at Eren’s right ankle.

Jean stretched out toward the opposite end of the footboard. Armin had fastened the buckle as snugly as possible around Eren’s left ankle without restricting his circulation. Given that Jean had been buckling and unbuckling his own straps over and over every day for more than three years now, undoing this one should’ve taken him all of five seconds and a few quick movements. Except that his hands were trembling. After what seemed like forever he finally got the damn thing loose and tossed it to the floor, as Armin had just done with the other strap.

“Pull your knees up, Eren,” Armin ordered. “As far up as you can.”

Eren obediently placed his soles on the topsheet and drew his feet backward until his heels were flush against his ass. Completely submissive, completely exposed, completely open. Jean swallowed again.

Armin moved back around to the side of the bed, then swung himself up on it to kneel astride Eren’s waist. Reaching behind himself, he threaded his arms under Eren’s knees and lifted them further upward.

Jean’s brow furrowed. “So you’re going to sit there while I…”

Armin turned his head to flash Jean that unsettling grin. “Yeah. You can watch his face over my shoulder.”

Jean hadn’t been expecting this. Then again, he hadn’t been expecting the whole evening, from the basic premise down to dozens of its details. Whatever, Jean thought. You only lived once, and Survey Corpsmen didn’t live long at all, especially not Survey Corpsmen trying to overthrow the monarchy.

He walked to the nightstand and picked up the vial. Again he was keenly aware of Eren’s and Armin’s eyes on his cock as he bathed it in oil, their stares hungry and intense. Between that and the feeling of his hand slipping over it he had to chew on the inside of his cheek so as not to explode. His hand shook a little as he set the vial back down and moved back to the bed.

His head felt light, like it was full of maneuvering gas, as he knelt again between Eren’s thighs. It seemed unreal, like it wasn’t his cock in his hand, and it wasn’t Eren’s hole he was lining the head up against. Through Eren’s body he could feel the hitch of Eren’s breath, more than he could actually hear it. He watched Eren’s cock, outlined against the upper curve of Armin’s ass, twitch and drip.

He drove forward. Because Armin was straddling Eren, Jean couldn’t easily brace his palms against the bed. He ended up flinging his right arm around Armin’s shoulders and resting his left palm against Eren’s raised right shin.

“Oh,” Armin nearly but not quite exclaimed.

“Oh,” Jean breathed almost simultaneously.

“Oh,” Eren groaned, nearly drowning both of them out.

If Eren had been a torrid and punitively tight pressure around Jean’s fingers, he was even more so around Jean’s cock. Jean wished he had some basis for comparison, some idea of how it felt to be inside a normal person. He pushed the thought of Marco, the wish that he’d fucked Marco a few times before it was too late, out of his head.

Armin was no furnace, but the skin of his back was warm and just slightly damp against Jean’s chest. Through it Jean could feel his heartbeat, quick and erratic. Then Armin tilted his head back, and Jean’s nose came to rest against the crown of it, where countless pale strands rose out of Armin’s scalp to swirl outward. He smelled of soap and just the faintest touch of clean sweat, and something beneath it that was lighter than Eren’s scent, verging on but not quite sweet.

“Jean…” Eren said, his voice faltering and shaded with desperation.

“Jean, can you move all right?” Armin whispered.

“Y—” Jean gulped. “Yeah.”

Experimentally, he drew his hips back, trying not to move his arms. It wasn’t entirely successful; he ended up dragging Armin backward several centimeters, then pushing him forward when he thrust into Eren again. “Sorry,” Jean rasped over Eren’s bitten-off yelp.

“It— it’s good, Jean,” Armin gasped. “Look down, over my shoulder.”

Jean shifted his head — he wanted to watch Eren’s face, but Armin had said _down,_ so he dropped his gaze to where Armin’s and Eren’s skin met between Armin’s splayed thighs. And watched Armin’s cock rub back and forth over Eren’s ribcage with the momentum of Jean’s next thrust, which drew another cry from Eren. He felt Armin shiver against him, skin growing hot.

He raised his head and, over Armin’s shoulder, caught Eren’s eyes. They were almost black now, and his parted lips wet and full. Jean thought about his cock between them again, wondered if having it inside Eren’s mouth were as insanely hot as having it inside his ass. If Armin hadn't been between them he’d have leaned over Eren and kissed him hard and mercilessly, fucking his mouth with his tongue like he was fucking his ass with his cock.

But Armin _was_ between them, rocking himself back and forth as much as moving with Jean’s thrusts, rubbing his own cock against Eren’s ribs. Armin, who’d magically become hot and who smelled really good, with his golden hair tousled with exertion and his warm, flushed skin that shone red in the candlelight.

Jean wondered if it tasted like salt.

He dropped his left hand from Eren’s shin and curled that arm around Armin’s waist, pressing up against his back, feeling Eren’s cock trapped between them. Now, every time he withdrew from Eren, he pulled Armin not just a little further back but down, too. Armin’s hair brushed against Jean’s shoulder, and the vulnerable arc of his neck glistened with sweat. The light danced on the pink tips of his hardened nipples and the crimson head of his jutting cock, too high in the air now to grind against Eren. 

Jean slid his left palm up Armin’s torso until his fingertips brushed the nipple. Armin moaned, low and shaky. Eren, who must have been able to feel that moan against his cock as well as hear it, echoed him abjectly. The vibrations sliced through Jean like a blade through a titan. 

He made a half-coherent noise of his own and arched his hips as far forward as possible, burying himself as deeply as he could in Eren while he pinched and rolled Armin’s nipples. He wasn’t sure what was more savagely gratifying: the hoarse cry from Eren the pitch of which told Jean that he’d just hit that sensitive little spot inside him, or Armin’s contorted face and soft moans as the ringleader of the evening’s events fell gloriously apart in Jean’s hands. He wished he could suck and lick and bite at Armin’s ears and neck while he was still fucking Eren. Leave marks on Armin, let him know where he stood with Jean every time he looked in the mirror, make him keep his neck covered in case Mikasa or Connie or, God forbid, the Captain looked at it too closely.

Then he realized that even if he couldn’t do all of that right now, he could still use his mouth.

“Do you like that, Armin?” he hissed into the cloud of Armin’s hair as he rocked into Eren again, feeling Eren’s cock jump between his and Armin’s bodies and hearing Eren make a noise like he was a coordinate for dogs instead of titans.

Armin’s only response was a shuddery groan. As Jean pulled back, he pressed Armin’s left nipple harder between his thumb and forefinger, though without using his nails. “I _said,_ ” he growled, “do you like that?”

“Yeah,” Armin wheezed. “More.”

This time Jean did press his thumbnail into Armin’s nipple. Armin _squealed,_ and after a flurry of panted breaths something came out of his mouth that probably should have been a word.

“Wh—?” Jean wasn’t that much more coherent.

_“Lower.”_

“Still… giving orders?” Jean huffed as he slammed forward as hard as he dared, feeling Eren start to shake hard around him.

“God, Jean, _please,_ just _touch me,_ ” Armin keened, mouth wide open after the words were out, eyes tightly closed.

Sure, Jean would. But the little shit could wait until Jean and Eren had both come.

Jean dropped his left arm from around Armin, ignoring his whine of frustration as he grabbed Eren’s hip to steady himself and fucked into him two, three, four more times. He let the quaking, gripping heat consume him, Eren’s unintelligible cries drill into his ears, until the room whited out around him and he heard himself moaning loud and brokenly against the crown of Armin’s head and it felt like every load he’d ever shot was emptying out of his aching balls into Eren’s body. There was a pulsing sensation against his belly, and then hot, wet stickiness gluing it to Armin’s lower back as Eren groaned at a pitch lower than Jean had ever heard from him in human form.

As he pulled out of Eren he hauled Armin backward, nearly horizontally, into his lap; Eren’s legs fell flat and limp against the shuddering mattress. Jean knotted his left fist into Armin’s hair, pulled his head upward, and kissed him as vengefully as he’d wanted to kiss Eren a moment before. His right hand, still slick with oil, plunged downward and curled into a fist around Armin’s cock. Armin moaned into the kiss, tongue blindly lashing against Jean’s as he arched his back, hips rising to meet Jean’s hand on every downstroke. Jean had probably shuttled his hand from root to tip and back again a dozen times before Armin tore his mouth away to utter a piercing cry and his come jetted into the air and landed on all three of them.

Shaking hard, Armin sank back down against Jean’s chest, lips still parted, eyes still closed. He was still panting, too. They all were. Jean glanced over at Eren, whose eyes were heavy-lidded and who had nearly melted into the bed. He hoped Eren hadn’t been quite so fucked out that he couldn’t appreciate watching Armin come undone.

Armin’s breathing had only started to even out when he straightened up out of Jean’s lap. Jean found himself biting back a protest until he saw Armin go for the Gear straps at Eren’s wrists, undoing the buckles with hands that were still unsteady, tossing them to the floor.

Something like a shard of glass twisted in his heart to watch Armin gently chafe Eren’s hands, flex his fingers for him, and Eren turn his head to the side to gaze at Armin adoringly. Marco might have done the same for him, if Marco hadn’t been too innocent and full of shame to do anything but laugh and blush when Jean broached the topic of kinky sex with him.

For the second time that night he gently pushed Marco out of his thoughts. The time for sweet and tender memories wasn’t when you’d just had a threesome with a titan shifter and his too-clever-by-half boyfriend and you were covered in their come and sweat as well as your own. He averted his gaze with respect, not bitterness, when Armin ducked his head to meet Eren’s lips with his own.

Eren sat up, curling and uncurling his fists, the world coming back to him. Suddenly he looked at Jean, and color burst into his cheeks — but instead of looking away in shame this time, he smiled. A bit shyly, but open-heartedly. Jean found himself returning the smile with one just as genuine.

“Do… do you want to stay with us tonight?” Eren asked hesitantly, his voice still a little rough around the edges. “We can push the beds together. There should be enough room for the three of us.” Armin blinked. Eren turned his head to him. “Is that okay, Armin?”

“Well… it’s okay with me, but Connie’s going to wonder where Jean went,” Armin said.

Jean sighed and shook his head. “We could all be dead by tomorrow night. I can lie if I have to about where I was, but if he finds out anyway… you know what, I don’t really give a fuck.”

He and Eren ended up moving the nightstand and pushing the beds together. Armin, who’d slipped out of the room in a loosely belted robe, returned with one dry towel and one that he’d wetted with warm water and soaped up. They cleaned themselves up, dried themselves off, peeled the topsheets off both beds, and stretched a full-sized topsheet over the two.

“Where’d you get it from?” Jean asked.

“Sasha stole it from Captain Levi’s linen closet,” Armin said. “I had to promise her my breakfast this morning to get her to do it. It was worth it.”

Jean stared at him. “Wait — you invited me in here _today._ So you had her take the risk of stealing the sheet even before you knew I’d say yes?”

“It never hurts to be prepared,” Armin said mildly. He could have been lecturing green trainees about the importance of keeping their blades sharp or wearing their cloaks on a windy day.

Jean stared at him a moment longer. He turned his head, about to shake it. Then he stopped himself with a sigh.

Eren ended up in the middle, his head in the right crook of Jean’s neck and Armin’s head on his own right shoulder. Jean’s right arm and Armin’s left were flung across his chest, their hands loosely clasped and both of Eren’s resting atop them.

“You know…” Armin said drowsily, his words half-muffled against Eren’s shoulder bone.

“What?” Eren murmured, his eyes lidded now with somnolence instead of pleasure.

There was a short pause, and then Armin said slowly, “… if we’re all still alive tomorrow night, maybe we could invite Connie in, too. What do you think, Jean?”

“You really _are_ a fucking pervert,” Jean muttered, nearly asleep himself. Armin didn’t reply. The last thing Jean caught out of the corner of his eye before he drifted off was Eren smiling broadly.


End file.
